La Joie de la Vie
by Jo Girl
Summary: When Satine first came to the Moulin Rouge, she didn't expect to have her heart broken. First love can mean only pain and heartbreak. Not a S/C. ***Chapter four up!!!! Finally!!!***
1. Wings

AN:  Please note that the category is Tragedy/Romance.  When I say tragedy, I mean that it's not going to turn out well.   This chapter isn't really the plot yet, just a way to kick it off, Moulin Rouge style.

I own nothing except my ideas, which essentially are my self.

~*~

            Satine waited nervously, high above the nightclub's flamboyance and energy.  Clowns weaved in and out of lines of the moneyed patrons.  The very underworld was there, dancing and pulsing and selling.  It was hell disguised as heaven, and people threw themselves greedily in.  What could they gain?  The only ones who made anything out of it were the whores with their diamonds, and they threw those into the fire, just the same as they had with their chances at society.

            Funny, how the richest men in Paris loved them but didn't give a damn.

            And there sat Satine, ready to float down among them, into the wild and crazy life she had long craved.  Some could be fond of this life, but so many more ended up miserable.  Satine had heard about the ones who hated it, but she knew she would never be one of them.  She knew it.

            "And, now," came a melodramatic voice, escaping from cherry-red lips almost in slow motion, "an angel descends among us!"

            At angel, the ropes that held her up gave a light jerk and her heart caught for a minute.  But in moments she was slowly descending, her feathered wings catching pieces of foil that were sprinkled down.  Her crimson lips parted and the mezzo of the expectant orchestra seemed deafening to her ears.  The first note sounded, clear and perfect.  The harmonies slipped from her throat.  Her heart beat.

            _Her throat, that had never tasted warm blood._

_            Her heart, which had never loved a man._

When the first slippered foot hit the ground, its soundless thump was audible to every enraptured ear.  Her breath had taken only a second's rest, but every eye in the building had been fixed on her, hungrily wanting more.  The men on the dance floor had parted, leaving her like Moses in the Sea of Reads.

            Satine, in the Sea of Tuxedos.

            Each had his gaze directed toward her and his hand on his pocket full of money, but none seemed to be able to move.  Little boys who usually ran from dressing room to dressing room with garters or more kohl for one of the Dogs hurried up to her and unhooked the ropes that had held her.  She held one hand above her head and turned her face heavenward, watching them unfasten her wings through the corner of her eye.  The feathers had reached to her toes and now the four boys carried a pair of wings among themselves like they were pallbearers.

            The music changed and the pitch died in midair.  Red hair shook and the quiet, holy beauty of a moment before was forgotten to a glamorous star.    Wings gone, she should have just been a woman in a white dress.  But somehow, she wasn't.  No one could figure out what had happened.

            Even then, she had great skill as an actress.

            _Only later would her life become an act and Satine the reality._

            The men crowded around and the dance continued on, riotous and fanatical and the absolute embodiment of energy.

            Satine loved it.

~*~

AN: More later…  


	2. To the Elephant

AN:  My second post today.  I've had this idea for a long time and I felt bad leaving y'all hanging without a plot!  Here it is.  Let me clarify about the Tragedy thing.  Ever read Romeo and Juliet?  Well, they spend some time happy but not nearly enough to make up for the misery that ensues…

Revised, because of one grammatical error!  4/18/03

I own nothing having to do with the Moulin Rouge.

~*~

            "Eights?" demanded a shrill voice, and a card was handed across the table.  Stowing the pair beneath an empty glass, a pale girl threw her head back to down the sharp, green contents of another.  Absinthe was cheap and coarse, but it worked.  Underneath the Moulin Rouge, that was how it was—rough, unpolished, effective.  Just above their heads, that never would have done.  Here the girls lethargically chattered and lounged, ignoring the beat of the music and cheers that filtered through the ceiling.

            Satine slinked in, heart beating so quickly in her chest that it threatened to burst with exhilaration.  Her dancing shoes made soft pattering noises as she ran to the rack of clothes.  Pulling off her dress, she looked nervously around, holding a second one to herself.  Jagged, hyena-like laughter echoed from the corner as one of the legs broke off a tipping chair.  

            "Birdie!" came the warning from her opponent.  Looking up from her cards, the woman saw Satine cowering close by.  "God, what the hell are you doing here if you're so modest you can't even change clothes?"  Her tongue loosened with alcohol and hours of pointless games, Nutmeg wasn't through yet.

            "Giving you star treatment when you haven't even been here a… night.  Zidler must be a fool.  They all have talent, until he's made a buck off 'em.  Then it's back to the street, where you belong.  We're all gonna be gone in a year, five if we're lucky."  The words where slurred, but their pointed edges were unsoftened.    "Where are you going to go then?  Where, you stupid little French maid?  Put on a short skirt and an apron and make your new goal the head o'the household!  That's the only man you deserve.  What are you doing here, rubbing shoulders with the aristocracy?  And Zidler didn't even send you out on the street, get you acquainted with the business first.  Said you should be 'pure.'  It'd complete your image, wouldn't it, you innocent little fu—"

            "Angel!"   Harold Zidler burst into the room, arms spread.  It took him a moment to figure out what was happening, Satine clutching an outfit against her body as she flattened herself farther against the wall with Nutmeg towering over her, looking wild.  He turned around and led the darker woman back to the card table, giving Satine the time to slip into the elaborate costume.

            "Lace you up, Chickpea?" he inquired casually, quickly fastening a million tiny hooks and ties that resided all over the dress.  "I have excellent news!  Men keep on coming up to me and raising the price.  They love you!"  He twirled her around and wiped a kohl-streaked tear from her face.  "You do want to go to the elephant, right, darling?"  She nodded, stifling a tiny sob.  Worry crossed his face for a moment.  "If you're not ready…."  Satine tilted her face upward and looked him in the eyes.  She hated the makeup he wore; it always made her feel like he was hiding from her behind it.  

            "I'm ready for anything, Harold," she said, sounding determined to his ears that would take years to recognize whether she was acting or not.  He smiled, reassured, and gave her his arm.

            "To the elephant, then!  You just may have a maharaja tonight."

                                                                                                                        ~*~                                        

            When she awoke the next morning, Satine silently cursed her surroundings.  Extravagance and vulgarity rested upon the chaise and were painted into the very artwork that hung on the walls.  She could see the tray that still held the wine glasses she and the maharaja had emptied the night before.  She saw their footprints in the rich rug.  But he was gone.

            When the girls had sat her down and talked her through what would come, they had made it seem so different.  He was just a man who happened to be there, the primary person was her.   All that mattered was what she did and that she got paid for it. 

            But that wasn't how it was.  She had never imagined that she would have figured it out the moment she handed him the skinny-stemmed glass…

            _How quaint, how freakin' quaint.  A courtesan in love.  My god, figure it out!  It's the wine… _

_That's all I can let it be._

The wine.  She held her head in her hand for a moment and got up, draping the robe someone had brought for her around herself and walked on bare feet down to where the other girls were.

~*~

"How'd it go, love?" Birdie asked, looking a different person without a glass of absinthe cradled in her hand.  She was bright and happy this morning, and her daily bottle laid, still corked, to her left.  Satine groaned and walked over to the bottle and drank directly from it.  Anyone else would have received a quick, painful slap, but Satine got only an understanding look.

"You say you do this every day?" she asked, not expecting Birdie's laughter.

"Not every day, Zidler lets us take some off.  But that's pretty much how it is."  Satine didn't even bother to react, so deep was her exhaustion and confusion.  "You can get your money from him tonight before the show.  Apparently, though, your maharajah gave you some jewels too?"  It was not uncommon, but it was nearly a ritual to show them off before throwing them into a fire.  They only showed ownership, and that was the unique, seductive quality about the girls that made them so intriguing to men—they had no master.  The Diamond Dogs didn't wear leashes, only jewel-encrusted collars.

Satine found the necklace in the pocket of the robe.  It was heavy and posh, worth more than everything in the little room that the girls gathered in.

Birdie laughed again, high and shrill, and grabbed the necklace.  Holding it around her neck, she whispered "He must really love you."  

~*~

AN:  That's it for Chapter 2.  You obviously can tell by now that the story works on suggestion, not "Then she put her hands blah blah blah blah…"  You get my point.  That's why it's PG-13.  Please review! 


	3. Do Birds Sing in Hell?

AN:  It's probably pretty obvious that I made up the Diamond Dogs in the story.  I didn't think I knew enough about the ones from the movie to write effectively about them.  

I don't own the Moulin Rouge.

~*~

            Her head pounded and a faint ache had settled in the shoulder she rested on.  She regretted her decision to nap on the sofa wholeheartedly and wished she could have found the strength to stagger away.  Zidler had a few reasonably comfortable beds set up for some of the girls who absolutely refused to enter their bordellos, except when they had a customer.  But she hadn't couldn't have made it to one of them then and couldn't now.

            If she had opened her eyes, she would have seen that Birdie's absinthe was gone, but as it was, she could almost see it's burning presence beneath her eyelids.  The only good it had done her was the pandemonium that now raged through her brain.  Thoughts confused themselves and bounced about in her mind, making pain the only clear thing.  It rose in a sharp crescendo at random points inside her skull.  A soft moan finally signaled that she would get up.

            She sank back down.  As soon as she had opened her eyes, she had seen _him_ there.  His beautiful face made a ghastly apparition.  Satine's blue eyes stared straight ahead, wide and frightened.

            "Awake?" called Love from behind the couch.  Her feet danced in a tight, then wide box.

            Satine didn't let her mind do anything, and yet each motion was somehow planned deep within.  "Shit," she said, just for the purpose of releasing the tension that exploded inside of her.  She ran her fingers through her hair and stood up, watching the world fade to black, then back in.

            "Go get some ice!"  Love pointed to and icebox in the corner.  "You'll feel better soon.  We've got a show tonight."

            _Of course, there was always the next show to live for._

            "Show me," implored the redhead, flexing her feet and pointing to Love's dancing slippers.  She watched the other prostitute's nimble movements.

            _That's what she was now…_

            "Go see Zidler. You have your own part for the rest of it," Love said a few paces later, pushing her toward the door, "and aren't you going to get some ice?"

~*~

            She ignored the daggers that carved into her tender body.  She disregarded the lightning bolts of fever assaulted each move she made.  They left her, but not soon enough, and not without being keenly felt.

            Presently, Satine took on the self-assurance of one who had survived a storm.  It had subsided, and with each passing moment, the memories became milder… it seemed it had never been bad in the first place.  She twisted in circles and practiced winking under Harold's scrutinizing eye.  When Lioness left to get some water, he showed her the dainty steps instead of waiting for her to return.  She almost laughed—

            But yet she couldn't.  The day so far had seemed so serious.  It would have been like wearing bright colors to your granny's funeral—a blatant disrespect.  She danced soberly until Zidler sent her off and Birdie caught up to her.

            "Let's go see the garden!"  Mischievousness never seemed left Birdie's voice.  It could dip from hateful to seductive and bounce up to joyful, but she always seemed lighthearted…

~*~

            "Birdie!" shrilled the Diamond Dog of the same name.  A sickly one-legged sparrow fluttered from a tree to perch lopsidedly on her finger.  

            "Doesn't she need a cage?" Satine marveled.

            "No," said Birdie, gently caressing one threadbare wing.  "She has one already." 

            Her eyes traveled the walls of the enclosed courtyard.  Her voice became serious and solemn. 

            "Not of the usual sort, but… she definitely has one.  Do you honestly think she could ever leave?  

            "No.  There's no place she could go.  But as long as she can live with this illusion of freedom, she'll be happy.  Look at her pretty coop.  She can fly and sing.  The only thing she can't do is leave.  Rather, she could, but who would accept her?  How would she live?"

            Birdie answered herself in a whisper: "She couldn't."

            Satine was afraid to speak.  The omnipresent playfulness was gone.  Sadness made the young girl seem ancient.  Unwrinkled eyes had seen too much of the world.  The air was thick, broken only with a few notes the bird struggled to sing.  Satine finally found words, speaking tenderly:

            "What happened to her leg?"

            "I cut it off," responded a somber voice, quickly as if to make it sound better.  "When I found her, it was twisted in three places.  It hurt so much that she couldn't fly, so she hopped and… I found her.  I did it real quick."  The voice was haunted now.  "I didn't want it to hurt her anymore."

            Satine tasted the suffocating salt of a tear in her mouth.  She ran her hand across her face and lifted her chin.  She tried changing the subject, hoping to restore Birdie to her cheerful self.

            "So… what was your life like before you came here?"

            The pastel girl lifted her face to squint to the vivid colors of the sky.  Her cutting laugh escaped from her throat and her hand unknowingly pushed a lock of hair from her neck.  Her finger smoothed an old scar that ran down her back beneath her shirt.

            "We whores don't talk about that much, but who the hell cares—

            "Once upon a time I was married to the meanest son of a bitch in the world…"

~*~


	4. Acting Classes

AN: First I would like to apologize for the huge delay between the posting of Chapter 3 and this one.  Sorry!

Second, I'd like to explain: This chapter was subjected to a merciless editing and re-writing and worrying that the pace was too slow or too fast and so on.  I posted a lot of other non-MR stuff that just hit me.  And, finally, this was sort of a big chapter in the scheme of things (my transition from just starting out to in the thick of the story starts here) so I wanted it to, well, not suck.

~*~

_He met Marmalade down in old Moulin Rouge,_

_Strutting her stuff on the street,_

_She said, "Hello, hey Joe, you wanna give it a go?_

_Oh, come on!"_

            Tonight, Satine was Lady Marmalade.  She pranced and twirled and winked at the regulars who, today, found it much easier to approach her.  She sauntered through a deluge of franc notes, giving only a mysterious, cat-like smile to overly-interested men.  

            This was to only thing she ever wanted to do—to dance, to sing, to anticipate the thunderous applause…

            She had dreamed of it for so long.  

            Somehow the transition from holy being to creature of the underworld hadn't jarred her audience.  They were more used to this anyway—a clear view of what they were buying.  

            But, in any case, she still intimidated them.  She was a precious gem to stare at and to want, but to hold—

            Inconceivable.

_Voulez-vous coucher avec moi,_

_ce soir?_

            They pressed in on her from all sides and suddenly her eye hit something it had not really anticipated seeing.

            The maharajah.  He was seated, cool and confident.  His dark skin and deep eyes penetrated her soul the way they had last night and she could feel his hot breath as he laughed with her.

            And she didn't care.  She had forgotten him.  The day had been long and eventful and her heart had been foolish to think it knew what it was doing right after she woke up.  He was just another man with a full pocket and a fondness for the girls Zidler kept around.  

            And yet, she couldn't move.  For a slow-motion moment, she couldn't tear her eyes away.  She wasn't thinking of love so much as her confusion.  It infiltrated her skull, shooting through her thoughts like an arrow Cupid himself had aimed incorrectly.

            _You like your job!  All of us should be so lucky._

            She recovered her bearings, spinning like the thoughts through her mind.

            _If it was a hobby, you'd be called a slut.  Good thing it's a job, 'cause then you get upgraded to prostitute._

Birdie had said it that morning before she'd collapsed on the sofa.  She'd been a little nervous then and shared what was possibly too much.  She didn't want to think about that now.

            This was her thrill, her joy.  The days in its anticipation were nothing compared to its ecstasy.  It was worth it now, she knew it.  They crowded around her, loving her and she watched the crowd, loving it.  People made her nervous, but crowds?  No, never.  This crowd was better than any other.  They didn't watch tamely and clap politely but shared her elation, moving and…

_Mocha chocalata ya ya!_

_Creole Lady Marmalade…_

            She ran with the music to the trapdoor and, right on cue, a million tiny sparks exploded from around it.  Beneath their manic cascade she disappeared, the queen of the underworld.

            "Get the hell over here!" hissed in Satine's ears before the last notes had even died.  As usual, Birdie's voice rose sharply as she used one of the words that would have cost her her head when she was a lady.  She sat in front of a vanity, quickly lining her lips in pale pink.

            "What is it?" asked Satine, concerned at the look of worry on Birdie's face.

            "Oh, God…"  The seated dancer clutched her head.  "Fuck absinthe.  Fuck the Rouge…

            Can you do my hair, dear?" she requested, unsuccessfully trying to wipe the dark circles from beneath her eyes.  "Tiny little braids."  A tiny hiccup burst in her chest.

            "They look so beautiful and they fly about so as you spin…" Birdie began babbling as in a fantasy while Satine braided cornrows into her white-blonde hair.

            "What…?" she whispered to Love as she stood next to her to adjust her beaded dress.  Two days down here as a member had let her ignore the scandal that would have been found in the short skirts and plunging necklines anywhere else.

            "She does this every night," Love whispered back.  "Ever since that one that—"

            "Damn you, Love!" Birdie screamed.  "You have no fucking personality!  You're a Collie bitch who comes when she freakin' called… You're just another whore who's here because the fellows say she has talent…"  Her head rolled over her shoulders, making the strands of hair Satine was braiding escape her fingers.

"You forgot for the money," Love said, expressionless.  Satine reclaimed the lock and finished the last braid before a man popped in and called out,

            "Ruby!  Peacock!  Yasmine!  Birdie!"  The four followed him out, checking their reflections in the mirror.  Love sank into the seat Birdie had filled.

            "She gets like that," she said mildly.  "Wouldn't drink for anything when she came here.  Don't look at me like you're surprised—I've been here longer than you'd think.  Since I was younger than you, even.  We all have something here that changes us, usually breaks us.

            "Up to about a year before she appeared I was 'vivacious' and 'exotic.'  Not the star, but with plenty of admirers.

            "Then my stomach started filling out."  She laughed bitterly.  "For me it was my son; for her it was some asshole who beat her up.  That's how she showed up, you know—black and blue and bleeding.  She probably would've died if Harold hadn't called the doctor.  Thought I'd get you acquainted, hmm?  Peacock was starving, Yasmine was sent by her father from Egypt, Lioness was with the circus until she hurt her leg on the high wire and became completely terrified of heights, Ruby's really fucking sick and is just here for the ride until it kills her…

            "I forgot the rest." She outlined her eyes again, even more darkly.  "Doubted you'd hear it from them."  Suddenly she seemed to shrink into herself and the life that had shone in her eyes was gone.  "Sorry," she whispered.  "I'm usually not like that.  I usually keep secrets to myself…"

            Love hastily finished her makeup and slouched off, once again dead to any onlooker.  Satine ran her fingers through her hair and pulled off the dress she was wearing.  Pulling another one over her head, she heard a new song start above.  She wondered when Zidler would come and get her so she could meet that night's customer.  Would tonight be like last night?

            "Seems to me, your man underpaid," said a deep, but distinctively feminine, voice.  Rich and beautiful, it matched the girl's dark brown eyes which, in the light, leaned toward red.  Two full lips rested on her olive face.  She laid across a chair and looked as if she had long been watching Satine from this perch.

            "All he wants to buy is your body.  He expects you to act but, at the same time, to be so good at it he can't tell the difference.

            "He doesn't think you'll wake up with a headache and actually remember him.  He just presumes it's his experience."  She stared into Satine's eyes.

            "Someday, you will learn the difference between your body and your heart.  I hope you'll also find out which one a man wants from you.  

            "Until then, make your bordello your stage." 

~*~

            "In the booth, darling!"  Harold stood behind her and lifted her hand so that it pointed at the man.  

            His hair had grayed long ago and now reflected a halo of yellow light on it's white curls.  Despite his age, his body was still muscular and lean.  He laughed with his friends as Satine made her way over.

            Their conversation yielded to thin air as, one by one, they caught sight of the rustling, sequined dress.  She walked slowly, letting her earrings dance around her neck.    

            "Voulez-vous coucher avec moi…" she began, waiting for him to finish her sentence.

            "Ce soir." He said, twisting the question into an answer.  His gaze followed the dress as if it hypnotized him.  She leaned down, her eyes capturing his.  

            "To the elephant?" she whispered.

~*~      

            It was so easy tonight.  She didn't think and hid herself deep within her heart.  That night, she forgot her heart and forgot everything except that she was an actress…

            And this was her role.

~*~

AN:  There you have it, finally!  Please review, as I hate only getting one review per chapter!  But, I would like to thank my one –REPEAT REVIEWER-, Yvi, who also told me how to find the extra features!  Thank you so much!  (Look, I've even broken a grammatical rule which I tend to yell at people about—I shouldn't really use 'so' there at all.) 


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